


To face the music

by BirdLittle



Series: a slice of spiderio [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Asexual Character, Asexual Peter Parker, Asexuality, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Not Spider-Man: Far From Home Compliant, Older Man/Younger Man, Peter Parker is 22, Quentin Beck Is a Good Bro, Quentin Beck is 35, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:42:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27895519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BirdLittle/pseuds/BirdLittle
Summary: Peter has a plan.A genius plan, to come out to his boyfriend, as asexual.But he has not a single clue on what Quentin may think about it.
Relationships: Quentin Beck/Peter Parker
Series: a slice of spiderio [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061984
Comments: 2
Kudos: 50





	To face the music

“Peter? You here?”

The young man in question scrambled up in a hurry from his seat on the bean bag, tripping over his feet as he ran to where his bag lay. Today was the big day. Quentin said he was going to be home at around 6:30 pm. It was 6:17 pm. He was early. Fuck.

It’s the big day. Or so Peter decided.

Because today he was going to come out to his boyfriend. His much older boyfriend, by just over a decade, to be exact, whom he had been dating for quite some time now.

He was going to come out. As asexual.

“Pete, your jacket’s on the counter,” He could hear the amusement in the man’s voice, hear as he walked around the kitchen, “I’m gonna assume you’re here somewhere, baby.”

_Baby._ Great. Fuck, this was a terrible idea. Absolutely horrible.

Peter liked Quentin, like really, _really_ liked him. He could admit the man had a beautiful face and body and was very… aesthetically attractive, but sleeping with him? Well, that was a whole other question.

Many months into their relationship and they’ve hardly done anything that most couples would have by now. Slept in the same bed and cuddled? Sure, easy. Pecks on the lips, cheek or neck, or a bit of light kissing? Still fine. The occasional heavy kissing, with Quentin once or twice touching him through his clothes as they kissed? Just a tad too much. Especially if the man wasn’t just holding him close but drifting his hand lower.

Somehow, Peter’s managed to avoid the rest of it or slow things down if the Quentin ever got too touchy for his preference. And Quentin was respectful if Peter ever said ‘not now’ or ‘I just wanna cuddle’ or made up some excuse about needing to be somewhere or being tired all the time, so it was fine right? They’ve spent hours doing other things together too. It was fine.

But the man had invited him over for a ‘fun night’ at his place, giving him his spare keys to come earlier.

And the slightly insecure corner of Peter’s mind kept reminding him that Quentin was 35. And Peter was 22. And maybe, well, the older man found his young body attractive, and this predicament might be a dealbreaker.

“Petey? Where are you?” Quentin’s voice was closer, walking down the apartment’s one long hallway, towards the room Peter locked himself in, Quentin’s study. It was the place with the fastest connection, not that it was furthest away from the entrance.

With trembling hands Peter undid the zipper on his bag, eyeing the container of cookies he had brought with him. The ace flag was drawn on them, along with other ace symbols; black circle, card symbols, a little purple cake etc. He ordered them custom from a nearby bakery, seeing as he would probably manage to burn the flour somehow. It was just a conversation starter. Hopefully, Quentin will ask what they are.

Calming his breath, Peter stood up. “I-I’m here! Just a second!”

Time to face the music. He didn’t even manage to cross the room before the door opened, and Quentin’s face lit up in a smile. Forcing a smile just as large back, Peter welcomed the man’s embrace, who spared no second in sweeping him into a hug so tight Peter’s feet left the floor. Oh, he definitely loved having a tall boyfriend.

“Hey honey,” Putting him down, Quentin darted in for a kiss. Peter quickly made it nothing more than a peck, using the excuse of ‘needing-to-talk’ to not deepen it.

“Hi Quin,” Peter mumbled against his boyfriend’s lips, giving him a small peck, in case the man wanted to try kiss him proper again. That or Peter was overthinking everything. Either way, small pecks were fine. “How was your day?”

“Eh, nothing important.” Quentin answered, hands coming down to rest at Peter’s waist, “More excited to come home and see you. I’ve missed you, baby. I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages…”

Actually, they met up four days ago. But Peter could admit that much was true, and blushing, he leaned forward to press his face into Quentin’s shoulder. He missed Quentin, all the time, and he wanted to see him, and talk to him and cuddle on the couch and watch dumb comedies together and talk about theories on physics for hours. Fuck, he _liked_ him. He—

“Pete?”

“Hm?” Carefully schooling his face into something a bit cheerier, Peter looked up again. “Yeah, yeah, it feels like a lot longer, doesn’t it?”

Quentin looked at him carefully for just long enough for Peter to think something’s wrong, before huffing out a quiet chuckle, and leaning down to softly press his lips against Peter’s forehead, hug tightening for a moment and then letting go. This… this Peter liked.

Tugging Peter by his hand, Quentin led them out towards the kitchen, “Dinner?”

“Oooh, did you cook something?” Peter excitedly followed. He loved Quentin’s cooking; even basic things tasted better when homemade by the man.

“And a bottle of a little something,” Quentin added, picking up the wine standing on the counter as they walked along, spinning around till he hugged Peter again, stealing an unexpected kiss from the young man. It was over before Peter even realised what happened, only the fleeting panic of his plan left on his mind as Quentin left him to grab the glasses.

“For my dear baby boyfriend,” Quentin teased, passing him a full glass already.

“I’m 22.” Peter laughed, hiding his uncertainness, both hating and loving how the man endlessly joked about his age. And height. Actually, the latter could get annoying at times, especially when the man would hold something over Peter’s head just out of reach until Peter started whining. But he would deal with it every day if it meant seeing Quentin.

They drank a glass, talking about their day.

Quentin remembered Peter has an exam in about a week, on Monday to be exact, in the afternoon, ending at 5 pm, in time for Quentin to pick him up from the university campus in his fancy Audi car, just to show off. Even his friends forgot his schedule sometimes, but Quentin knew it just from being told once.

Peter in turn listened to the man complain about his colleagues, blushing when Quentin commented on Peter’s definite ability to do the job twice as fast and far more accurate. He loved hearing about the projects Quentin worked on, and he knew how long the man could talk science. 38 minutes was the record, and he only stopped because he saw Peter was timing him.

They discussed the upcoming Star Wars finale, ‘Rise of Skywalker’, just as Quentin served them both their meals, chicken and vegetable stir-fry, and whether they wanted to see it alone or in a group. Neither could make up their minds about it; Quentin wanted to connect with Peter’s young friends but was scared what they thought about the age difference, and Peter was quite shy around Quentin’s older friends, worried they see him as just some kid.

Lost in jokes and talk about nothing really in particular, Peter’s worries began melting away to the back of his mind, eyes glued to Quentin’s, leaning into the man’s touch as they sat side by side by on the kitchen counter. The apartment technically didn’t have a ‘dining room’, so the tall chairs facing the kitchen made do.

His appetite returned full strength right from the first bite, and in no time, he was already serving himself a second portion, despite Quentin’s protests to let him do it, and relax. Another glass of wine flew by without notice, and only when Quentin began cleaning up their plates, did Peter realise the timing of things. Dessert, he needed to bring out his dessert.

“H-Hey, so,” Peter’s voice, unfortunately, cracked, “Um, I brought something sweet to eat actually.”

“Oh, you made something?” Quentin asked, smirking because he knew full well Peter can’t cook to save his life.

Slowly heading back towards where he left his bag, Peter replied perhaps a little more seriously than he wanted to, “No. Um, not exactly. I’ll go grab it!”

He jogged to the room, and took out his container, staring down at the black, grey, white and purple colour scheme. Tonight, was so fun. Every day with Quentin was so fun. If he lost this…

What was once a high wave of joy suddenly plummeted into dread. He blinked back the stinging in his eyes and practised smiling a few times before leaving the room. Time to face the music.

Quentin was loading the dishwasher as he walked in, humming a quiet tune, happy. He was so happy. Just the sight made Peter’s heart glow. All he wanted was for Quentin to be happy. And he might not be able to give it to him.

After standing at the doorway for a bit too long, Peter hesitantly walked in, suddenly so unsure of the space in which he’s spent countless hours in already.

“You look a little pale, you alright, Pete?” Quentin asked as soon as he turned around, the noise of Peter placing down his box telling him that Peter had returned. For once the man’s observative nature was a hindrance rather than a pleasure.

“Course! Yup, just, uh, hope you like them!” Answering with a bit too much enthusiasm, Peter slid his personal Pandora’s box across the counter. Catching it, Quentin opened the lid.

Peter watched the man’s face with extreme analytical skill, searching for any twitch of the muscle that could indicate shock, rejection, or hatred, or disgust. But there was… nothing. The man was a closed book when he wanted to be, able to hide his feelings on command. Peter was thrilled that Quentin let his guard down around him. But now? Was he hiding? Or just… looking up and down between the cookies and Peter because he doesn’t understand the gesture?

“Damn, Peter you shouldn’t have.” The man finally spoke, something like awe blooming on his face, finally going into his signature smirk, “These look amazing! And I accept, Mr Parker.” He finished with a wink, reaching to grab a piece.

_Accept? Offer? A wink?_ Peter’s head began swimming with possible assumptions for each word.

With shaky hand Peter quickly grabbed a cookie for himself too, hastily biting into it, mostly as an excuse to not talk if anything. Quentin complimented the sweets again, coming around closer to run his hand through Peter’s curls, asking what movie he wants to watch between each bite.

Peter blurted out the first thing that came to mind, which wasn’t Star Wars, lord knows how many times he’s made Quentin watch one of those, and so they ended up sitting on the couch, side by side, with James Cameron’s Avatar on for entertainment.

Quentin happily ate the cookies. But didn’t ask questions.

Peter didn’t lean up against the man like usual, instead, he sat there crossed-legged on the couch pillows, frantically trying to breathe at a normal human rate and _not_ for the love of God start _crying._ The main conflict of the movie hadn’t even begun yet.

He joked along with Quentin at any comments the man made about the movie but didn’t contribute his own. At about the 20-minute mark, Quentin slung his arm around the young man, pulling Peter in closer. Very hesitantly, Peter put down his head on the man’s shoulder, taking a deep breath, flinching when it came out all too shaky.

He bit into his cookie, still not finishing his first, even as Quentin started on the third.

Another couple of minutes went by. Nothing.

Peter cleared his throat, “How are th-the cookies?”

“Hm?” Quentin put up a finger as he finished chewing, “The cookies? Oh, great yeah, I need to eat out more. I could never quite bake. And I love the colours, too, baby, it’s okay.”

On his last sentence, Quentin squeezed Peter’s shoulder twice, as if… assuring. But did he _get it?_

Oh God, what if… he didn’t get it, did he?

Accepting an ‘offer’, the wink, a movie… fuck, Peter knew exactly what ‘Netflix & Chill’ really meant. Quentin didn’t get it. He didn’t question it either, so Peter _had_ to _say it_. He was going to have to say it. He’ll say it, and Quentin will know, and then he’ll judge him or reject him, fuck, what if he stopped touching him altogether? What if he tried to convince Peter otherwise? No, Quentin wouldn’t… he’d never hurt Peter, he’d never… God forbid _force_ himself on Peter… Why was he even thinking this? He just needs to say it. Quentin won’t hurt him. Physically. He’ll just be disgusted, reject him, and be confused by it and they’ll break up and Peter will never have this again and never be happy and—

“Pete? Woah, hey, hey…” Quentin suddenly leaned away from him, turning his body to face him more, his other hand coming up to cradle Peter’s face oh so gently. “Baby? Shit, I-I’m so sorry… I was just—”

Quentin’s thumb brushed over his cheekbone, and Peter vaguely realised he had tears pouring down his face. He sniffled loudly, watching as Quentin moved around in front of him, until the man faced him completely, and held him by his shoulders or his face so, _so_ affectionately.

“Peter? Hey… Where’s my little man?” Quentin tried smiling, but it came out tight, strained. The man’s eyes began to water.

Peter couldn’t even muster smiling at the tease, his bottom lip quivering, so many thoughts running through his head, about half of them horrible, a quarter just bad and the rest he couldn’t even begin to decipher.

“’m ais.”

“Sorry? I— Um, I didn’t catch that, baby, sorry…”

“The… the cookie, I-I-I’m ace… Asexual” His throat died in a hiccup, and he pressed his eyes shut, mentally preparing himself for just about anything. His tears wouldn’t stop, his body shook, and he was one second away from completely bawling his eyes out.

“Shh, hey… ah _fuck_ , I’m so sorry, shit I should’ve just said something, fuck, I— C-Can I hug you? Please?”

Peter mindlessly nodded, needing just about any physical affection to not completely fall apart.

Within a second his face was buried in Quentin’s chest, strong arms coming around to hug him tight, one hand around his torso, the other holding Peter’s head. He felt Quentin bury his face into Peter’s hair, hushing the young man in his arms, whispering things along the lines of _‘it’s okay’_ and _‘I’m so sorry’_.

Finally, the damp walls broke. Peter reached out to grab at Quentin’s shirt, and he cried and sobbed, practically yelling into the soft fabric. He mumbled out apologises or words or… something, he wasn’t sure. Quentin rubbed his back and did his best to comfort him, holding him oh so tight, like a large blanket. It helped. A lot.

In just a few minutes, Peter was able to breathe normally again. At least, he wasn’t crying a waterfall onto Quentin’s shirt anymore.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. I got you, Pete, I’m so sorry. You’re safe. I was an idiot. You’re okay.”

_Why was Quentin apologising again?_

“Do you… do you get wha’ I'm…” Peter mumbled, struggling to form words in his mouth.

“I-I do, yes. You’re ace. Y-You’re asexual.” Quentin’s voice shook, “That’s completely okay, you’re amazing, baby, okay? I’m so fucking sorry, I thought you got my hint, I just, I didn’t know how big of a deal this was for you. I thought I’d just accept it and move on; I should’ve said something more clear though, I…”

_Accept?_ “You dun’ mind?”

Quentin pulled away suddenly. Just enough for Peter to see his eyes, and the silent stream of tears flowing out, not that Peter looked any better really. And Quentin… he looked so scared.

Nodding, Quentin moved to cradle his face again, rubbing any stray tears away. “Of course not. Peter, I love _you,_ okay? Yes, you are very beautiful, but I’d rather _never_ sleep with you and spend every day with you than ask that from you and risk losing you, okay?”

_I love you._

They— They hadn’t really said that yet. Not so genuinely anyway. Not with _so much love_ behind it.

Peter threw his arms around his boyfriend again, not quite laughing, not quite happy crying, he wasn’t too sure. There were too many emotions for his mind and body to process.

All he knew, all he cared about, was that Quentin was there, with him, that he loved him and accepted him.

“I love you, Peter.” Quentin near whispered, “Do you want to talk in the morning? To set boundaries and stuff? And just... cuddle and finish the movie for now?”

Peter nodded eagerly to each suggestion, overwhelmed with relief, even if his mind was fixated on the first part of the sentence, echoing in his head over and over again.

_“I love you too, Quin…”_

**Author's Note:**

> not me sick and writing this till 2 am in one sitting
> 
> bit of a change-up from the usual dynamic i like writing between these two, but nice accepting bf Quentin Beck is just as important as any other version
> 
> please correct any spelling/grammer errors! <3  
> (comments give me life, thank you)


End file.
